


The Good Truth

by bizairy



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood and Gore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Human/Cathar Relationship, Interspecies Romance, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Realistic Backstories, SWTOR, Slow Burn, Smut, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic Spoilers, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23322601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizairy/pseuds/bizairy
Summary: The fire across the wounded landscape could not match the fire in her heart. The green eyes above her softened for a moment, reminding her of the lights on Nar Shaddaa, she smiled, blood spilling from her lips as she was cradled in Havoc’s arms. The face above hers seemed to promise safety, a sweet release from the pain, the hunger. She placed her hand on the man’s chest, blood smearing over the orange Havoc logo. “You’re safe now.” He rasped, Cathar teeth glinting in the light. She’d seen this man before, looked over his file along with the others. The permanent scowl on his face was unmistakable, the tawny fur, the level green eyes.“Lieutenant Jorgan.”
Relationships: Aric Jorgan/Female Republic Trooper
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. {Prologue} Utterly Alive

There were no windows in the transport ship aside from the pilots’. The rows of chairs facing each other in one long, vertical stretch were illuminated by a harsh red light instead, beams cut by the safety cage around the bulb. The ship’s cabin wasn’t dim, but it wasn’t _corporate clean_ either; a phrase Amanata liked to use to describe the unnecessary perfection of civilian accommodations. It seemed unnatural to her when all the dirt was scrubbed from the surface of a spaceport or shuttle. It took away the character, the history. Luckily, Ord Mantell did not have the luxury of endless cleaning supplies or a superior who got their panties in a bunch everytime a speck of dirt touched the floor. In fact, the planet had become acquaintances - if not friends - with the prospect of _imperfection_. Amanata had done her homework, she’d studied the landscape and culture of her next assignment. There was no room to brush the lies and greed under the rug here, no time to trick its residents that everything was fine. Ord Mantell’s rug couldn’t hide anything. It was riddled with separatist bullet holes and stained with the muck of a soldier’s boots. It made her smile, lips curling up with a shyness only she could explain. The red hue of the transport’s cabin traced her features, outlined her round cheekbones, fazed on her soft cheeks. Her brown eyes flickered upward, scanned the hot and sticky room that hurtled above the surface of the planet. In the chairs next to her, rows of soldiers sat with their head in their hands. Military grade seatbelts stretched over their woefully crafted armor, scratched and burnt from past encounters. There was no space, Amanata’s knees would scrape against those of her neighbor. They’d bump shoulders, smell each other’s sweat. To another being it may have been off putting, but this had been Amanata’s reality ever since she left Nar Shaddaa fifteen years ago. Forty-five pounds of reinforced steel plating was her business casual. The muck, the dirt, the grime, was her office. And war was her employer. It was a flat state of mind, one that acknowledged the grit and darkness of its surroundings. But Sergeant Amanata Lakes was not afraid of the dark. 

Anti-air missiles whistled past their craft, and explosions could be heard from the earth below. A chuckle escaped the man sitting across from her, strapped into his chair as she was. “You haven’t seen nothin’ yet kid.” He crooned in a deep, raspy-melodic voice. Amanata gave a lopsided grin to the dark skinned man, blowing a strand of fiery red hair from her sticky face. “Well, Kolos, you’ve given me quite the welcome party. I was worried my acceptance into Havoc Squad would mean paperwork and diplomacy, but this-” She gestured to the deafening noise that thundered across the ship as another anti-air missile rocketed past. “This is exciting.” The man leaned further back into his chair - bolted heavily to the wall of their transport. He crossed his arms and smiled. Bex Kolos was a large man, and would be intimidating even without a full suit of Havoc’s signature orange-white armor molded across his arms. There was a coldness in his dark eyes, one that flashed each time they caught the red light. Tight black curls of hair were shaved into lines down his skull, and his face was chiseled like stone. It was as if his shell didn’t match his personality. Before hearing Kolos’ voice, one would assume him terrifying, ice-cold. But his chuckle and mauve vocal tones spoke otherwise. The two didn’t fit together - it was off putting, but Amanata was used to that sort of thing. As a member of Havoc Squad, he _had_ to be intimidating. The Republic’s Finest, now stationed on Ord Mantell to retrieve a dangerous bomb kept by the separatists. It was a backwater mission for the crew - or so Amanata had heard. She’d read up on each member - grasping hungrily at every scrap of information the Republic would give her. Ever since her acceptance onto the team, Amanata knew she needed to be more than herself. She needed to be the face of the Republic, on the front lines of war against the Empire. Havoc Squad was more than a suit of armor and assault cannons, there were more important ideas involved as well. Amanata assumed that was why Lieutenant Kolos’ demeanor didn’t match his face. By day, he was a diplomat, and by night, he was a killer. Amanata fell in between. She was never one for corporate lies and bureaucratic schemes. She could put on a smile, yes, but her words would never define what it meant to be a soldier of the Republic. Her actions were more important - the dirt on her boots, the sweat on her brow. Amanata often wished the galaxy could see her for just that, her actions. The lies and social juggling would get to her, but she’d be safer in Havoc Squad. The crew spoke her ideals, fought for what really mattered; the good truth.

As if reading her mind, Kolos leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, dark eyebrows narrowed. “I’m glad you’re here, Lakes.” 

Amanata wrinkled her nose in an exaggerated grin, a genuine look in her eyes. “Thanks Kolos, me too.” 

They both rested back into their chairs, sweat beading from their pores. Amanata found her gaze drifting to the caged red light mounted to the wall, its beam would flicker every time a missile whoosed past. Her hands mugged up the dividers between chairs, sweat dripping down her back as the comms consul from the piloting chamber up front screeched. 

“--transport D was hit, they’re shifting cannons your way--” Static ripped through the speakers and the pilot shifted in his seat. Amanata leaned forward, gazing down the row of soldiers, into the piloting chamber. It was lit by sun, unlike the rest of the cabin. Two men sat with white helmets, jamming their fingers frantically into the control board. Microphones and speakers wrapped around their heads, wires trailing into their shirt collars. A muffled argument was tossed between them as the ship lurched to one direction. Turbulence rocketed through the chamber, causing some of the sitting soldiers to grasp their seatbelts, some holding their helmets, glancing around frantically. Amanata locked eyes with Kolos, a determined stare in her brown eyes. Kolos only smiled again, seemingly unfazed by the change in atmosphere. 

“Oh, fuck this.” He joked, unstrapping himself. There was no fear in his stance as some of the other soldiers shot him looks of disbelief, sweaty faces gaping. The large man stood, stepping forward into the small walkway between the two rows of seats. He lumbered forward confidently, occasionally placing a hand on a soldier’s shoulder for balance. His hand never faltered as he opened the drop door. The wide plate of steel whirred as it detached from its locks, sending a gust of smoke-smelling wind into the cabin. The back of the ship was dropped downward with levers, giving the passengers a new window to a daylight battlefield. A mad cackle erupted from the large man’s maw as he unhooked an assault cannon from the wall above a terrified trooper’s head. “Are you crazy, man?!” He protested, covering his head with his hands as Kolos only shot him a look of contempt. Amanata sat up in her seat, attempting to glimpse the landscape through the wide opening in the ship’s frame. Curiosity was stronger than her fear instinct, and the Sergeant unclipped her seatbelt and found herself standing in the slim aisle too, red hair blowing wildly in Ord Mantell’s air. One of the pilots had noticed their escapade, and hung in the doorframe between the cabin and the pilot’s chamber, collared shirt now sucked tight against his frame with the wind. “Hey!” He barked, voice lost in the harsh breeze. “What are you doing!?” Kolos didn’t even spare the man a glance, instead he stepped out onto the now lowered drop door, assault cannon in both hands. Amanata shot the pilot a sympathetic grin, but knew that this small guilt wouldn’t stop her from following one of Havoc Squad’s finest into danger. Her heart was pumping fast, the smell of gasoline and fire in her veins. Kolos stood on the drop door, assault cannon swinging in his massive arms to and fro, like a turrent. Amanata grasped his shoulder with a small hand, gazing downward to see Ord Mantell’s earth breezing by below them. Fire and explosions dotted the surface, the ship’s reflection flying by in the lakes and rivers as they crossed over. Transport ships didn’t fly high - they didn’t have the capacity to. It left them at the mercy of ground cannons, and apparently - it left the ground cannons to the mercy of Kolos’ aim. Silver plated buildings whisked by, lit with mortars and frags. Amanata let her gaze lift to the horizon, sucking in a breath as she took in the mountain line, crowned by a beautiful blue sky. Kolos’ voice echoed harshly into her ear as he let a round of mortars loose into the outline of a turrent below. “Fuck your missiles!” The explosion sent ashes into the air, and Amanata watched them with the fascination of a child. She felt alive, utterly alive as she stood on the drop door of a transport ship, clinging to the hope that the Republic’s strongest heroes could be this brilliant. There was no hidden motive in Kolos’ actions. He was bold and brash and real. A smile graced Amanata’s face and she tilted her head into the sky, her red hair falling from its tie. This was Havoc Squad. 

It was difficult to hear the speakers blare with panicked messages in the pilots chamber. The wind was too loud, her nostrils were filled with smoke and brimfire. A mix of emotions were instilled into Amanata’s brain as time seemed to slow. She watched the ground wiz by below. Watched as men, women, were torn apart by explosions. Republic troopers lay stretched out on the ground, their bodies falling over onto those of separatists. Ord Mantell’s buildings were now riddled with bullet holes, starchy landscapes now ablaze. It didn’t faze Kolos, and Amanata found herself envious of his brashness. There was glory in war - a fiery thing that made her head spin, but there was death as well. There were no lies, no beating around the bush. Blood spattered steel walls, the smell of flesh now mingled with that of smoke. Tears sparked in Amanata’s eyes and she turned away from the drop door, coughing into her elbow. This was her - raw and emotional, the same woman who could be as strong as charcoal. She never cracked for long though, and collected herself in time to greet the lucky missile that collided through the cockpit. 

Fire surged through the aisle behind Amanata, and her eyes grew wide in terror. Soldiers were engulfed in flames as the transport ship tilted downwards and began to plummet at impossible speeds. The sergeant tried to grasp at something sturdy, but found the ground was pulled out from under her as the ship took a nosedive. She slid back into the aisle, steel breastplate scraping against the ribbed walkway as her legs slipped. Ord Mantell’s blend of mountains and salt lakes now spun in her vision, merging together as she plummeted with the ship. The ringing in her ears grew unbearable as the engine whirred and bursted into flames. The ground was abrupt, harsh and unforgiving. Her head hit something hard, and then there was nothing.

<//>

The red light flickered angrily, as if mocking the surviving soldiers with its presence. Amanata couldn’t hear the moans and sobs of the soldiers around her. She could only watch with a hazy gaze as her dead comrades hung upside down above her, strapped to their seats still, bodies lifeless. The sergeant rested on the roof of the transport ship, now inverted and collapsed. Dirt and muck clogged the opening of the drop door, and once again, the hasty red light was her only saving grace. Something sticky dripped down her face, she raised a shaking hand to gingerly touch her right eye, wincing as she felt around the gash that now laced her eyebrow and higher cheek. The shock kept her at bay. Anymore sense of realization would have her floored. She couldn’t think too hard about those lost. The woman who had sat next to her now rocked back and forth in tears, holding her leg. It was dark, and between the flashes of blood red light, nothing could be heard. Amanata rolled onto her stomach with a muted groan, crawling over to the woman. A rod that used to line the seating now protruded through her thigh, and she wailed as Amanata touched it. A voice in the back of her mind told her to look for Kolos, to dig through the dirt until she could breath in the light of day again. But Amanata was a soldier, she had done this before. A quick assessment of herself told her she wasn’t seriously injured, and now her focus could shift to the wounded woman in front of her. “Hey, hey.” Amanata whispered, unable to hear her own voice. The soldier was unresponsive, only able to cradle her leg in shock. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?” That same voice in the back of Amanata’s mind told her it wasn’t possible. She had learned to tame it, to hinder its ability. That voice was flighty, but it could still speak. 

Another flicker in the lighting and Amanata looked around, assessing the situation. Red haze lined the bodies of the survivors, sprawled out on the flip side of the transport, some staring into nothing. She stifled a heaving inhale, grasping at straws to find solid ground. Closing her eyes, Amanata felt the steel tiling, telling herself that she was here - she was alive. After what felt like centuries, she removed her breastplate with a click, letting the armor slide off her aching frame onto the floor. Her shirt ripped easily, with only a little force. It was tied quickly around the woman’s leg, fastened with a quick pull of fast hands, which sent a hiss from the soldier’s mouth. Amanata didn’t even know their name, but it didn’t matter. Removing the spear from her thigh would only cause more damage, so Amanata decided it was the best that could be done for now, moving onto the next wounded. The cynical side of her wanted to spit in the face of those watching from the outside. Corporate would try to cover this up, say that they all died an _honorable death_ and would leave them to rot. But she was speculating. Her mind tended to wander in situations like these, focusing too much on the present became depressing after a while. Amanata needed some small victory in her mind, even if that meant trumping her higher ups with a subtle thought or glance. The truth would come out, and if she were to die here then so be it. It would be true, and raw. The thought seemed to comfort her in some strange way, and as Amanata crawled to her next subject, a lanky man with burn marks down his entire left side, she decided that they would be okay. 

<//>

Seven survivors, including herself. It was strenuous, but Amanata tended to their wounds one by one, finding out only later that she had been bleeding heavily from a gash in her abdomen. The cabin was hot and sticky, and her mouth tasted of blood. Hours passed, maybe days. Amanata fell in and out of sleep, waking up often to bend over and dry retch from pain, holding her stomach. Her hands were bloody, matching the lighting - the tone. The woman with the speared thigh now lay still next to her, and Amanata’s red hair blended with hers as their heads fell together. Her breaths were short and heaving, and the humidity of the cabin clogged her senses. It was hell. 

The sergeant sat up too quickly as the sound of tearing metal ripped through the chamber. More time had passed, although she didn’t know how long. The air felt like thick jelly, and her head throbbed as it tried to balance it all. The subtle glow of night lit her face as a high-caliber beam saw tore through the cabin. The remaining metal was pulled away, a gut-retching sound that caused Amanata’s ears to throb. And then there was green eyes, green in contrast to the harsh red that marked her doom. Three figures hopped onto the steel, lifting her limp body through the opening and into the cool air. Amanata’s head fell back, eyes open with stark realization. Her red sticky hair was peeled from her face by the merciful wind, freckled cheeks glowing in the light of the stars. A wide gash intersected her right profile, sparing the eye, blood spattered across her rounded face, glistening and flashing. A gasp of air was sucked through her lungs, and she could breathe. The fire across the wounded landscape could not match the fire in her heart. The green eyes above her softened for a moment, reminding her of the lights on Nar Shaddaa, she smiled, blood spilling from her lips as she was cradled in Havoc’s arms. The face above hers seemed to promise safety, a sweet release from the pain, the hunger. She placed her hand on the man’s chest, blood smearing over the orange Havoc logo. “You’re safe now.” He rasped, Cathar teeth glinting in the light. She’d seen this man before, looked over his file along with the others. The permanent scowl on his face was unmistakable, the tawny fur, the level green eyes. 

“Lieutenant Jorgan.”


	2. {Prologue} Four of Seven

Circumstances had changed quite a bit, Amanata had never imagined her first meeting with the rest of Havoc Squad would be on these terms. She’d had her moment of glory with Kolos, but fate wasn’t ever that kind. In what seemed like weeks from the transport’s crash, Amanata awoke in a less-than-sterilized medical room, head throbbing. A droid stood over her flat, blue padded mattress with a mechanical expression. 

“Sergeant Amanata Lakes, you are awake.” It stated in a monotone voice - devoid of any emotion. While the galaxy had been blessed with many smart and sentient mechanicals, this was not one of them. Amanata snorted quietly, guessing the medical droid’s only purpose was just that - medical. The blue paint that had been layered over its steel body was scratched and worn in places, the steel coating dented. Green bulbs meant to symbolize eyes directed their attention away from her as they wandered away to attend to some other task. Their color reminded her of Jorgan’s eyes - the last thing she saw before losing consciousness. Amanata sat up from the bed - stiff as nails. She held her head and rubbed the back gingerly, red hair hanging messy and loose around her collarbone. The room wasn’t large - six beds sat in a row with walkways on the side. Above, fluorescent light illuminated the metallic walls, once painted white. The silvery steel shone through under the scuffs and scratches. Amanata traced them with her hazy gaze, until she remembered the scratch of her own. 

Two sheepish fingers pressed gently on her right forehead, navigating the stitches now placed there, continuing on like railway tracks down the side of her face, stopping mid-cheek. Amanata sighed and felt it, too. The exhale left her with a sharp pain in her stomach - and she lifted her loose scrubs to find a large bandage placed there, stained red on the edges. _Fuck._ It wasn’t the wound that upset Amanata, it was the possibility that it may hinder her role in Havoc Squad. What an introduction. A new sergeant, hired on to the team, immediately needing medical attention after their transport crashed. Amanata frowned at how it sounded, but then she remembered the soldiers still strapped into their chairs after the crash, dead and lifeless, cold eyes staring into her soul. The sergeant shivered and snapped her train of thought away from the past. How many days had it been since the crash? Did Havoc end up finding the separatist bomb without her? And where was Kolos? 

The present would always be more important than the past. The present could be changed, _adjusted._ Amanata pursed her lips and found the droid two beds over, scrubbing a raised mattress with a cleaning solution. “Do you have a mirror?” She asked, almost jumping at how raspy her voice sounded. The mechanical raised its head with a whir, gazing at her. Wordlessly, it shuffled over to a cart stocked with bandages, stims, and surgeon’s materials. Its arm plunged into the mess, and after a few clanks and shatters, it retrieved a small, handheld metallic circle. It lurched over to Amanata’s direction, finding her wrapped up in blankets, sitting upright in bed with a concerned look on her face. 

“Yes, Sergeant Amanata Lakes. As requested, here is a: ‘Mirror.’” 

Amanata smiled, nodding her head as thanks before grasping the small circle in her bruised hands, bringing it up to her face. And there she was; her red hair that sat just above her shoulders hung messily, knotted in sections - but thankfully devoid of any blood. Amanata’s freckles shifted like waves on her cheeks as she smiled at herself - then snarled, flashing her teeth. A giggle escaped her lips, soft brown eyes creased. She was radiant, damaged. Pale skin turned a nasty red as it lined the scar that layered over her right eye. Stitches, seven of them. Other minor cuts lacerated her skin, but it was her signature. A soldier’s face. 

The droid broke her train of thought as it watched her with those beady green bulbs. “Is there anything else I may assist you with?” 

Amanata winced as she shifted from her bed, placing two bare feet solidly on the cold steel floor. A rocket of pain shot through her stomach and she barreled over, grasping her gut. “Yeah.” She rasped cheekily, waving the droid away as it reached out to catch her. “Discharge me from your service, I’m feeling better now.”

“Negative.” The droid stated, taking a few creaky steps backward to stand straight. “My files state that: Patient 462: Amanata Lakes, is not cleared for discharge.”

Amanata looked up from holding her stomach, red strands of hair rooted at her widow’s peak falling over her face. “This is an order from a member of Havoc Squad, discharge patient four six two, and give her access to her file.” 

The droid’s processor whirred for a few moments, before it nodded and shuffled away. “Very well. Sergeant Amanata Lakes: you are cleared for duty, return to your post.”

Amanata grinned and limped to the door, pressing her hand against the scanner as it departed and opened. She didn’t sign on to Havoc Squad to be a patient. Good republic medicine wouldn’t be wasted on her. And Amanata didn’t want to sit and vegetate, thinking about the crash. That was how bad thoughts were made. As the door split down the middle and slid into its frame, Amanata sucked in clear air, outside again. Bare feet padded down the steps and onto Ord Mantell’s surface. Around her, a military base lived on. Fort Garnik - she assumed. It was to be her first post before the crash. Nestled into the planet’s oceanic mountain range, the base was surrounded by dull silver walls that had seen their fair share of the war. A road cut through the camp, trafficked frequently by smoked speeders and soldier’s boots. Distressed civilians mingled around makeshift tents and outposts, arguing, crying, speculating on the future. A breeze whistled through the base, and once again Amanata smelled smoke and steel. She was reminded of her and Kolos’ expedition, and decided to start there, wandering out into the street. Her scrubs flapped in the breeze, ties swinging wildly. The stares cast her way only sparked adrenaline in Amanata’s frame. She needed information before throwing herself head first into the world of Ord Mantell. 

“The barracks, where are they?” She asked a nearby soldier who was sitting in the dirt, fiddling with his holopad. 

“Uhh…” He stuttered as he gazed at her form, scrubs and all. “T-That way.” A gloved hand pointed down the street, and Amanata winked in thanks, starting towards her goal.

<//>

After some awkward conversations and asking around, Amanata had placed her hands on a uniform, navy blue with smart leather plating. Her hair had been tied back into a ponytail, a few wispy strands from her widow’s peak were brushed behind her ear. No one around the barracks seemed to have any information on Havoc Squad’s location or the state of Bex Kolos. She assumed there must be some sort of government mandated security involved, to try and keep Havoc’s actions quiet. But Amanata would be damned if she had to sit in that medical bed, waiting for the answers to come to her. What was she supposed to do? Drink water with a straw, waiting for Tavus or Jorgan to show up with flowers and an apology? 

Determined now, and as reckless as ever, Amanata departed the barracks, glowing in Ord Mantell’s blue sun. She lifted her head to the sky, closing her eyes. A few dozen minutes passed before she found herself limping through the hallway of what seemed to be Fort Garnik’s briefing room. It was a large metal structure with black trim and tall steel-framed doors. A couple of soldiers milled about in the walkway, working on holo pads talking to friends. Amanata’s jaw was set as her gloved hand brushed the wall, leading her to the direction of one of the doors, before a sheepish looking man stopped her. 

“You!” His voice was filled with awe - quiet and odd. He shimmied up to her, eyes wide. “You’re the newest addition to Havoc Squad!”

Amanata’s brown eyes creased in a lopsided grin. “I am. Do you… know where I could find them by any chance?” She rubbed the back of her head. “I’ve been out of commision for - who knows how long - and well, I’m hoping they’re still on Ord Mantell.”

“Oh? Oh!” He stuttered, hands gesturing with every word. “You don’t know? They’re in the field right now - word came in that they were needed and well… that’s all I know.”

Amanata cursed under her breath and clamped her fists, wishing she could be there with them. “Thanks-”

“Private Farn.” The man butted in, raising a hand as if to say _here._ “My name, er, you can call me Farn, Private Farn.”

“Thanks, Private Farn.” Amanata smiled, already theorizing how she’d meet up with the rest of Havoc Squad. “Do you by chance know _where_ in the field they are? You see, I’m-”

“Supposed to be on medical leave.” A voice finished her sentence and Amanata turned around, brow furrowed. In the hallway stood five suits of heavy armor, painted with one single stripe of Havoc Squad orange, the arrowhead logo crowned with shrapnel and smoke. Commander Tavus stood in the center, the rest of his crew fanning out behind him, arms crossed in various forms of aloofness or badassery. Harron Tavus sported pale skin, a handlebar mustache, and tight black curly hair. He was average in stature, but made to seem larger - more _intimidating_ in his suit of fifty pound armor. His ice blue eyes weren’t nearly as cold as Kolos’ had been, but they cut into Amanata’s frame all the same. It almost broke her fiery disposition, but she grinned and continued on. 

“Commander Tavus.” She stood to attention and saluted, watching as Private Farn behind her frantically did the same. A smile cracked Tavus’ maw and he waved her at ease, padding up to place a hand on her shoulder. “Welcome to Havoc Squad, Lakes. It’s unfortunate that we had to meet in circumstances like these, but I’m glad to see you alive and well.” 

The voice in Amanata’s throat died as Tavus answered her oncoming question with cutting accuracy, as if he read her mind. “Kolos is fine, don’t worry. He’s on bedrest for the next few days, _smartly_ recuperating until feeling better.” 

Amanata winced at the subtle jab to her excursion from bed, but Tavus didn’t seem too upset. “My file…” She managed to say, wondering what the past few days had been like. A thousand questions were loaded on the tip of her tongue as Tavus placed his hand on the scanner for the nearby room, doors departing open. Private Farn waited in the background as the rest of Havoc Squad followed Tavus into the larger chamber. Amanata nodded to Farn before following suit, heart pumping fast.

<//>

A blocky metal table sat off to the side of the room, large enough for ten people. It was belly height, and a few barstools rested near the edge. Tavus pulled one out with a steely scrape, and offered it to Amanata. She felt the eyes in the room shift to her as she sat, adjusting her ponytail with a pointed cough. A spattering of soldiers attended to the front of the large room, milling about a large holographic screen, hands on their chins, thinking. In the background, tactics and strategies were mumbled between professional uniforms, gloved hands gesturing with the times. Tavus pulled out a stool of his own, heaving his frame onto the seat, a tired demeanor about him. 

“I heard Havoc went out on a mission…” Amanata started, rubbing her neck. “That would explain the uh…” She gestured to the ash stains on his plated armor, and looked around to notice the other four members of Havoc with small cuts or dents in their uniform. 

“Yes, well…” Tavus smiled wearily as he gazed to another armored figure on the other side of the table. “It wasn’t anything serious, and… it’s beside the point.” Tavus rested his elbows on the table, black eyebrows raised with a scary kind of cunning. “Havoc Squad doesn’t accept just anyone into their ranks. You’re exemplary, Sergeant Lakes, and you continue to prove yourself, even here on Ord Mantell. I’m assuming you want to know about the crash, and well, I won’t scold you for cutting your medical leave short. It’s a good value to have, Lakes; _determination._ It’s one of the reasons you’re now sitting here with the Republic’s finest.”

Amanata ducked her head, cheeks growing hot with praise and she stifled a grin. “Thank you sir, that means a lot to me.”

Tavus only smiled and tossed a holopad onto the table, pressing a few buttons before the figure of Bex Kolos appeared, in bed, wounded, yet very much alive. The hologram shifted as he sat up, a toothy grin on his face. “Lakes! You didn’t die!”

At this, Amanata’s face lit up, she pushed a few wispy strands of hair behind her ear before responding. “I’m glad to see you in working order as well, Kolos. The transport… well… that was crazy.”

“Yeah…” Kolos responded, the projection of him flickering. “Wild.” He growled, causing Tavus to shake his head in amused exasperation. 

“Well.” Tavus interrupted, hanging his head between his shoulders. “It’s not as ceremonious as I imagined, but we’re all here. Lakes, this is Havoc Squad.”

Amanata couldn’t stop her grin this time as it pushed her lightly freckled cheeks along. She gazed under her brow at the five members - excluding Kolos, gathered around the table. They gave her each a nod, some seeming more friendly than others. Amanata didn’t need an introduction, she had stalked each of their files ever since word first came that she’d been scouted to join the team, however Tavus opted for one anyway, a courteous sort of action.

“You’ve meant Kolos already,” he coughed, wiping his hand through the hologram with a crooked smile. “Codename: Gearbox. Kolos specializes in heavy gunnery, as I’m sure you’ve seen.” 

Kolos waved in his bed, the projection of him rippling. 

“Zora.” Tavus gestured to the only other woman in the room, a thin Mirialan with black facial tattoos stretched across her green skin. “Codename: Wraith. Zora is my second in command and most trusted advisor. What she says, goes. She specializes in infiltration and assasination, and has never failed a mission.” 

Zora raised her brow and gave a lazy wave as hello. Amanata returned the gesture with more enthusiasm, but would be lying if she said Zora’s apathy didn’t sting. 

“Bazren.” Tavus continued, standing up from the table abruptly, the stool sliding with a scrape. The commander walked over to place heavily armored gloves on the shoulders of a pale Zabrak man. Small horns protruded from his skull, and a peppy sort of look sparked in his eyes. 

“Fuse.” Bazren interrupted, causing Tavus to frown. “Sorry sir, I just, I prefer to be called Fuse. Hi Amanata, er, Lakes.” He stuck a hand out and Amanata shaked it, already charmed. “Word came through about the crash - you saved good lives. Remember that woman with the big spike in her leg? Yeah, she’d be dead if it weren’t for you. You really do live up to your reputation.” 

“Alright, Fuse.” Removing his grip on Fuse’s shoulders, Tavus came to stand between the remaining two members of Havoc Squad, hands behind his back. “Fuse is our explosives specialist.” Tavus drawled, seemingly more tired than he had been a few seconds ago. 

“You’ve already meant Dorant and Jorgan here, although you may not remember. Dorant was responsible for finding the location of your craft after it crashed. Jorgan set up the extraction team, and well, we three were there to carry it out.”

Amanata was already on edge, eyeing up Dorant. Needles was his codename, Tavus needn’t tell her. A cybernetic human, his biological face gave way to high-tech machinery, embedded into his brow, chin, and right eye. Where the pupil should have been, now only a red dot glowed. Greasy black hair hung over the parts, and deeper underneath was a shrewd little man, one that made her skin crawl. “It’s good to meet you Dorant.” She coughed, forcing a smile. 

Dorant, or _Needles_ only pursed his lips, nodding. Disturbed, Amanata directed her attention to the Cathar at the end of the table. His skin was coated in a short but thick layer of tawny fur. Pointed ears capped the side of his head, and stunning green eyes glared at her from under a permanent scowl. Amanata could remember his face the clearest - the one she had stared into as his arms pulled her from hell itself. It was strange - they seemed _kinder_ in her memory. But these eyes were annoyed, blinking slowly as they stared back at her - as if a challenge. Pointed canines flashed in the fluorescent light as Jorgan reprimanded her, never missing a beat. “Your stunt on the drop door was reckless. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Amanata bit her tongue to stop a rapid-fire retort, already mad at his stupid face and his stupid eyes. But at least Jorgan was honest about his distaste for her actions. Needles and Wraith’s passive aggressiveness was more offensive in a way, so she spared the Cathar the sting. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant Jorgan.” The excess of politeness in Amanata’s voice was almost comical, but if Jorgan wanted to play this game, then she’d play too. “I appreciate the candor.”

Jorgan’s stare leveled out into a flat one, and he took his elbows off the table, crossing his arms.

After a long, awkward silence, Tavus clapped his hands and returned to his seat. “You mentioned answers, Lakes, if I recall.” 

Amanata shot to attention, now alert. Finally, some information on what had happened. “Yeah…” She whispered, trying to act more nonchalant after a couple stares were thrown her way.

Tavus reached for the holopad, smiling goodbye to Kolos before turning off the projection and switching to a hologramed surface of charts and graphs. “Sergeant Amanata Lakes…” He began to read and skim. “...trapped in an upturned military-grade transport ship for seven hours… rescued by Tavus, Jorgan, Dorant… Lakes was responsible for saving the lives of three wounded troopers-”

“Three?” Amanata interrupted. “No, that’s not right. I counted seven living before I… well…”

“Before you lost consciousness.” Tavus finished gently. “Blood loss is a common cause of death on the battlefield, Lakes. You should know this well. A lot can happen during seven hours, and four of those seven troopers just lost too much.” He stated the matter with a sort of coolness and stunned Amanata. She knew she lacked field experience. Her marks in school had been flawless. She knew her way around every latch, every grade of armor; hell, Amanata could even fly a starship. But the real world was different. It was exciting, bold and brilliant, but the truth of it was harsh. Amanata knew that people would die, she knew that war that _Havoc Squad_ wasn’t going to be pretty, but for some reason, the statement stung. 

_Four of the seven crash survivors bled out while Amanata was sleeping._

Dammit. A few seconds passed, and the others seemed to notice too. Tavus cocked his head to meet her brown eyes with those icy blue ones of his own. 

“Lakes, don’t tell me this line of work will be too much for you.”


	3. {Prologue} Good Shot

A few days had passed since Tavus’ jarring question. Amanata couldn’t get his condescending tone out of her head. 

_"Lakes, don’t tell me this line of work will be too much for you.”_

She’d be fine. Death was normal, blood was normal. Amanata shouldn’t have taken such a hit from learning about those lost in the crash. Ever since then, Havoc Squad had been sending her on simple two-man missions, a little too easy for Amanata’s taste. The fact that they were possibly a test to see if Amanata could actually handle the jarring field annoyed her, but she’d comply. This was Havoc Squad after all. She spent her nights either in the barracks of Fort Garnik, or camped out among the rocky outlooks of Ord Mantell. Over the days, she’d learned more and more of the situation on the planet. 

Yesterday, Fuse; the Zabrak, explained that he’d come to visit Amanata in the medical bay before she awoke after the transport went down. He giggled over his MRE, chewing with his mouth open as they sat together under a misshapen tent, binoculars over Amanata’s eyes, watching a nearby road.

“Yeah… ha! Lakes, your face while you were passed out was hil-ar-i-ous.” The Zabrak snorted and coughed, almost choking on his next spoonful of rations.

Amanata frowned playfully, feeling glad that at least one of Havoc Squad’s members had warmed up to her presence. She’d become quite acquainted with Ord Mantell’s structure around Fort Garnik, and learned how to best defend the base as they continued their search for the bomb. The day before Fuse’s teasing, Wraith had taken Amanata with her on an extraction mission. It was almost painful to watch as the green woman dragged a separatist out of his home by his hair, threatening to shoot him in the street if he didn’t talk. 

Eventually, Kolos, or _Gearbox_ was discharged from the hospital, showing up to the briefing room one morning with a scary smile and bandages across his face. It had seemed he had taken to the crash harder than Amanata, but acted fine as they went over the next day’s mission. Aric Jorgan was as grumpy as ever, constantly reminding Amanata to _be careful_ , refusing to let her live down her excursion on the drop door. She didn’t see Kolos getting any grief. It made her eyes instinctually narrow each time she and the Cathar were in a room together. And that was how they rested now, peeking from behind a parked speeder with critical accuracy. 

Today was not going to be an enjoyable one, with Jorgan crouched to her left, a sniper resting carefully on their cover. Amanata’s eyes scanned the premises, envying Jorgan’s natural Cathar night vision, while her human self required special goggles to see in the dark. She’d been given a sturdy suit of armor to match the rest of Havoc Squad’s, something she took great pride over. Admittedly, the breastplate would fold into her bruised stomach with every movement, but Amanata couldn’t complain, lest she accept that she was wrong to cut her medical leave short. Amanata hated to be wrong, especially in front of Jorgan. The Cathar had made it extremely difficult to like him, with his constant over-the-shoulder gaze, and lack of conversation on the field. Tavus had told her that “he’ll warm up to you.” But at this point, she was seriously starting to doubt it. 

Ord Mantell’s sky was dark as the two crouched behind the speeder, overlooking a small separatist outpost, Jorgan’s sniper surveying the landscape. The two moons that orbited overhead were the only light in the vicinity, and Amanata watched them with a sort of longing, missing the vast blue sky. The air hung rancid with the constant smell of smoke and debris, even at night, which was supposed to be a peaceful time. Rusty bare mountains rose in the horizon, cutting off the starlight, leaving black triangular voids before the face of the earth. The foliage, dying and dried, would whisper in the breeze. Three separatists milled around the front of a small circular house, arguing feveratly with one another. Amanata pressed a few buttons on the side of her goggles, allowing her vision to zoom in like a scope, examining the three men. 

“Jorgan.” She whispered, gaze never leaving the target. “That’s who we’re after, the man in the middle.” The lanky man was thought to be a separatist operative, working with third-party companies to gain hold on explosives, weapons, and the like. He had been deemed more use to Havoc dead than alive, and his clock began to tick as Jorgan lined up the sniper’s sights.

The Cathar only growled under his breath at her whisper, in which Amanata rolled her eyes, ready to head back to the barracks and bury her face in a pillow. A few eager seconds passed before a silent shot fired from the rifle, and Amanata watched as one of the three men crumpled to the floor. The other two ducked their heads and ran for cover, unable to spot Jorgan and Lakes dozens of yards away. A light came on in the house, and a few other soldiers spilled out, shouting profanities at the sight of their dead comrade. 

Amanata’s face turned to Jorgan’s as he began to sling the sniper over his back. His expression was steely and unreadable, yet not quite as cold as the rest of Havoc’s. Even Fuse had that sort of ice behind his eyes. Jorgan was different. Annoying, yes, but different. 

“Good shot.” Amanata hissed as they crawled away, rounding a hill and sliding down its dirt surface, landing with their backs pressed against the shale. 

“We can gloat once the mission is complete, Lakes.” He rumbled, pulling out a pistol from his belt. 

Amanata followed suit, cocking her handgun as they both silenced their movements, listening, waiting. 

The separatists from the house now shuffled around on the other side of their hill, kicking at the speeder Amanata and Jorgan had been hiding behind just seconds before. The beam of a flashlight cut around the rocky outcrop which sheltered Jorgan and Amanata, and footsteps followed suit. A couple more clicks of boots crunched over the rock and flint, whispers announcing their presence. “--where did they go?” “--sniper, Republic probably--” “fuck--”

The dark of night was their saving grace as Jorgan turned to meet the flashlight’s beam as a soldier rounded the hill. Still crouched, the Cathar fired one single shot into his skull, the noise like a firecracker. A few small flying creatures were spooked by the noise, flying from nearby patches of foliage and into the sky, forms becoming unrecognizable in the dead of night. 

“Over here!” A separatist shouted, the crunch of his boots growing quick and frantic. A few others followed and rounded the hill, each crumpling to the ground as Jorgan delivered quick shots to their heads.

_Bang_

_Bang_

_Bang_

Amanata rolled in front of him as he recoiled to charge his blaster, the soft metallic sounds of armored gloves against metal. A figure came from over the hill this time, unwilling to die the same death as his companions. Amanata fired one shot into his abdomen, but the soldier’s momentum sent him sliding down the shale, barreling into Amanata with a grunt. His hands pressed over her face as he tried to win the upper hand. Amanata kicked out with her legs, rolling the separatist onto the peat soil and elbowing him in the skull, the blood from his blaster wound staining her greaves. He yelped and caught hold of her fingers, wrestling for the gun as the movement sent more shale and dirt down the slope. Slipping, the two figures clipped off the mound as the steep hill grew only steeper. Amanata caught herself at the edge of the cliff, earth falling away into the ocean. She fired as the man refused to let go of the gun, blowing his hands to pieces. With a scream, Amanata kicked out hard with her boots and let the soldier roll off the side of the rock, wincing at the muffled crunch below as he found land on a stony beach. Not missing a beat, Lakes rolled onto her stomach to fire more rounds uphill, stopping two more soldiers before they caught Jorgan off guard. She was breathing heavily, sweat beading on her forehead and dirt stains on her face. Quietly, Amanata clambered back to Jorgan’s side, nodding as he lifted a finger to his mouth as if to say _shhh._ They sat for a long while, the only sound being their shaky exhales as their breastplates lifted and fell from the excursion. The night grew silent again, and a soft wind rippled over the ocean.

Amanata sat down heavily in the dirt, turning her gaze away from the hill to gaze out over the sea, smelling the salty wind and listening to creatures caw above the waters. She wondered for a moment what Ord Mantell would be like - unfazed by war and crime. It was an unrealistic goal, and probably wouldn’t be seen within her lifetime, but it brought a smile to her lips all the same. Amanata’s peripheral vision caught Jorgan watching her, green eyes glowing in the dark. There was a serene peace after the skirmish, one that soothed even her fiery soul. The Cathar stood from the dirt, hooking his blaster back into his belt before extending a muddy gloved hand out to Amanata, helping her up. She accepted it with some hesitance, but rose to meet his eyes all the same.

“Good shot.” He grunted, and then without another word, set off to return to Fort Garnik.

<//>

Amanata sat curled on her mattress, staring at the ceiling of the barracks. Lucky for her, she’d been allowed a top bunk rather than a lower one. The ceiling was better to stare at than the underside of someone else’s bed, the divots and scars in the metal above her helped guide her thoughts into something coherent as she pulled her sheets up to her collarbone. Jorgan and herself had returned from their mission late, the two moons already departing to give way to dawn. The blue sun drifted in through the large metal door frame. The atmosphere was filled with dew, the surface of the dirt outdoors now a sleepy kind of wet. Most of the barrack’s inhabitants had left for the day, heading out for their early morning rounds - or to snag a shower before all the stalls were taken. 

It wasn’t the light that made it difficult for Amanata to find rest - that sort of thing would never bother her. Growing up on Nar Shaddaa had taught her that some things never sleep, and that the world wouldn’t shut off simply because she needed it to. Amanata had become self-sustainable, independent, if almost to a fault. There was a fire within her, passionate and bold. It would dim but would never die. Each night she tossed and turned until by some miracle - sleep took her. A cap was placed over the flame, telling it to rest. 

She sought to glow, to bring the light within her to the Republic and so many more. Everything Amanata did was purposeful, determined and harsh. It was so easy to gun down those separatists, even to feel hope after the deed was done. And it was easy to let it get to her, angry that lives could end by a twitch of her finger. She remembered Tavus’s question a few days ago, asking if she could handle this kind of work. Amanata knew what the answer was; she had known ever since the incident on her homeworld. 

The sergeant shifted her legs under the sheets, rolling over onto her stomach to press her face into the bedding, forcing darkness. The scar that bisected her eye stung as she did so - but it made her feel alive. It was only fair that she should hurt - seeing as how she hurt so many others. 

The answer was yes. Amanata would burn a hole in Havoc Squad, one so fierce that it would incinerate her doubts. The pain of battle cut her deep, but it was the price to pay for natural bravery, one that would carry her onwards through it all.


	4. {Prologue} It's Not Personal

“This is ridiculous!” Jorgan’s voice echoed from the other room, seemingly more annoyed than usual. “Are you _trying_ to get her killed?”

Amanata stood in the doorframe, a little off to the side so as to not be spotted. A solid month had passed since her and Jorgan’s excursion on the cliffs. Business had continued as usual, with Amanata acting as fierce as ever to show Havoc she was worthy of this spot. Unnecessary risks had been taken, and perhaps she’d been trying too hard, but it was her signature. Everything the sergeant did; from sleeping to fighting, was done in vigor. The sky was blue as she awoke today, with clouds dotting the horizon. Oftentimes Amanata would wake extra early, just to watch the sun break the mountain line. It was beautiful - captivating. Her armor had been wiped down - fiery hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, and face washed as she gazed at her new scar. The gash from her brow to cheek healed - yes, but it left a noticeable mark of once-wounded skin. Amanata quite liked looking at it - imagining it had a sort of badass appeal, suitable for a member of Havoc Squad. She padded to the briefing room early in the morning, only to find Jorgan and Tavus in a heated argument. Smartly, she stayed in the hallway to let it blow over, but couldn’t help but listen in.

“I think Lakes has more than proved herself in this past month - it saddens me that you don’t agree, Jorgan.” Tavus’s tone remained level, almost aggravating with how little emotion it held. 

“No - it’s not that.” Jorgan hissed from behind the doorway. “Lakes is capable, but a one man mission into a separatist stronghold, to retrieve a _bomb?_ Tavus, that’s suicide.” 

Amanata wanted badly to abandon her post behind the door, just so she could stare into Tavus’s face, and glare smugly at Jorgan’s. However she stayed put, grinning to herself at the prospect of a new mission. It sparked something in her heart to know that Tavus - commander of Havoc Squad, had enough faith in her to send her after the group’s main objective. After the bomb was retrieved, they’d leave Ord Mantell, off to some other exciting place. She did have questions however - as to why the rest of her squad wouldn’t be assisting her, and what kind of obstacles she’d be facing. Jorgan did have a point, Amanata had to - begrudgingly - admit, but she’d be damned if she let it stop her. 

“Where will the rest of Havoc Squad be?” Amanata asked, stepping from out behind the door frame, unable to force her patience any longer. Both Tavus and Jorgan snapped their heads towards her direction, Jorgan’s scowl growing even deeper. 

“Did anyone ever tell you not to eavesdrop, Lakes?” Jorgan growled, crossing his arms. He leaned the small of his back against the table where Amanata was first formally given Havoc Squad’s introductions. Tavus only sniffed and stepped forward, regaining his composure in a matter of seconds. “Lakes. You’re just the person I was looking for.” He crooned, placing a sturdy hand on Amanata’s shoulder. “I assume you’ve heard most of the briefing. You’ve been assigned to pull the separatist orbital bomb ZR-57 from their stronghold only a speeder’s run from here.” 

Amanata grinned, fiddling with her grip. “I’m ready, Tavus, when do I move out?” The prospect excited her - and fed her spontaneity. 

“Hold on now.” Tavus chuckled, shifting his hand from her shoulder to his maw. “You asked about the rest of the squad; well, the team will be running interference for you, causing a ‘distraction’ of sorts. Jorgan will remain in Fort Garnik to track our signals, and you, of course, will clear a landing pad within the base, ensuring that our forces can get in and out with the goods.”

Jorgan grumbled to himself and shifted his stance. Amanata caught his gaze out of the corner of her eye and looked away quickly, feeling prickly at his opposition. But Jorgan stayed quiet, only brooding in the corner.

Tavus went on to explain that Needles had successfully tracked down the location of the bomb a few days ago, and Gearbox and Fuse were in the process of acquiring adequate transportation for the massive orbital missile. He made it clear that sending Amanata in was not a decision they made lightly. “If there’s one thing Havoc is not, it’s impulsive.” He had stated. Amanata bit her tongue as Tavus spoke the words, wondering if the statement was a subtle jab to her spontaneity, but brushed it off. The mission was more important than her personal feelings. They spent the rest of the morning going over briefings - speaking on tactics and the surrounding landscape. A few of the soldiers who shared the room with Havoc had put together a miniature aerial hologram of the geography, based on the scans Needles brought back. Tavus paced the room with his arms behind his back, and Jorgan stayed simply out of necessity. He seemed to be under the impression that if he were to leave, Tavus would throw Amanata into even more danger. Amanata wondered to herself if it was wrong to be interested in the prospect. The blue sun sat just above their heads as Tavus gave the okay. He left Jorgan and Amanata alone in the briefing room with a pointed glance and determination in his step. Amanata had never felt so filled with fire. Adrenaline was practically dripping from her fingertips. 

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Jorgan had said as Amanata left. Quite the goodbye, she thought to herself, but couldn’t be bothered. A couple of salutes were thrown her way as she exited the hallway. Amanata knew they were only due to rank, not the importance of her mission, but they encouraged her all the same. 

The sky was blue, a few creatures circling in the air. A clatter of boots christened the street, and the mountains bowed down to the ocean below. It was time.

<//>

The separatists had made quite a reputation for themselves in the rocky area, where the mountains clipped the sky, and ambushes were as easy as throwing a rock down an impasse. The fact that this particular stronghold Needles had set his fingers on was only a short jump away from Fort Garnik itself struck Amanata as ironic, but really it seemed much farther away. The endless cliffs and oceanic stretches made sure of that. It made sense to her now why so many enemy soldiers would be seen milling about the cliffside, setting up tents near the inactive volcano to scout out the lowered roads on the ocean sand. On past patrols, Amanata had deemed the place beautiful - with the subtle red glow of lava emitting from the rocks. It wasn’t as commonplace as the towering skies of Nar Shaddaa, or the striking architecture of Coruscant, which in a way - made it special. 

It was late afternoon when her speeder was shoved off to the side of a wide rocky valley, covered with nearby foliage to remain inconspicuous. Amanata herself had ditched her Havoc uniform for a more neutral look - one of olive green fabric pulled over low-profile armor. A dusty beige cape was hung over her shoulders, acting as a hood to further nullify any suspicions. The cloth draped down her back, stretched over her assault cannon. It wasn’t a perfect disguise, but Amanata wouldn’t be needing it for long. 

The outcrops of sienna shale and rocks harshly rose up from the beach mercilessly, leaving no possible paths to the top open to the naked eye. Luckily, Amanata had been giving multiple loopholes and instructions on a way around the obstacle - thanks to the Republic’s drones and Jorgan’s _annoying_ consistency. With a little looking, she found a sandy trail that bisected the rock, following it to the perch above. The wide stretch of foliage that whispered in the wind was almost peaceful - but she wasn’t a fool. Letting her guard down now would be certain death. Amanata heaved her assault cannon from her shoulder, grasping it low as she carefully sauntered across the drying meadow. Tavus wasn’t lying when he said Havoc Squad would be running interference - it seemed they’d somehow cleared a perfect path for Amanata to cut through the separatist’s defenses. 

The glade sloped downward into another cliff, leaving a wall of intimidating rock. The temperature was steamy - a stark contrast from the vast cool ocean. Amanata almost began to wish for night - so that she’d maybe spy the soft glow of molten rock from the mountain in the horizon. Turning her attention to the slope of the foliage, she spotted a shift in consistency - the burnt rock of the cliff was bisected by a steel wall - stained black with shrapnel and smoke. A large warehouse door sat half open, leaving Amanata with the slightest glance into a stretch of metallic hallway that seemed to stretch endlessly into bedrock. She huffed and crouched low, clambering down the shale - assault cannon rested on one knee as the sergeant placed her back behind a large boulder. 

The lack of sound - movement, was unnerving. Amanata scented the air - learning to rely more on her nose ever since her excursion with Gearbox on the drop door. The usual smell of smoke and salt water mixed with that of flesh - a repulsive scent, not by taste but by origin. _Knowing_ where it came from significantly reduced its appeal. Had someone died here? Goosebumps rose on Amanata’s neck as she rolled out from behind the rock, hood lining the top of her vision. Her skin began to prickle as she set eyes on a pair of downed separatists - lying face down in the yellow foliage. Burn marks scored their bodies, and blood painted the grasses red. Something was off - but she was vulnerable standing out in the open. It was better to keep marching forward than to backtrack - so Amanata ducked under the warehouse door, sweat beading from her pores as she exhaled deeply. There was something exciting about executing the impossible, the danger made her nerves dance. Whoever had killed the guards to the stronghold was either deeper in the base - or running reconnaissance around the outside. She wanted badly to believe it was Havoc Squad, but it wouldn’t be wise to shove something so strange off so quickly. 

Inside the fort - the steel walls stretched forward a length - then turned abruptly to the left with the flow of the hallway. A couple scouting droids floated in the corner, their beady red bulbs spinning as the array of tools that hung below their core probed the air. Amanata bit her lip - knowing she’d need to take them out first. Once the first shot was fired - it would be war. Unlike Jorgan, Amanata didn’t care for silencers and sneaky tactics. She’d been trained in a field - and could handle that of Havoc’s just the same. Letting out a roar, Amanata jumped to a stand fiercely, knees locking into place as she launched a mortar into the two probe droids - watching their black metal tear and rip under the explosion. Biding her time, the sergeant broke off in a sprint towards the sound, eyes sealing as she meant the smoke of her blaster fire - jamming her shoulder into the turn of the hallway - hiding her form from any onlookers. 

One, two. Two seconds and a parade of separatist footsteps rattled on the steely floor - voices shouting and demanding backup, calling for aid. Still masked by the smoke, Amanata rounded the corner and launched two more mortars into the group, stifling the jolt in her heart as she turned away - not wanting to watch. The death of so many would only make her angry - and she’d give Tavus _no reason_ to doubt her skill after this mission had been pulled off. The shouts turned to screams of horror - some dying off completely as Amanata dashed through the next hall - sprinting with her assault cannon in hand. A blur of stationary holo computers were set up in the bordering rooms - housing huddling figures that either opted not to fight - or didn’t know how. Amanata thanked them silently for their compliance, finding herself in a metal elevator. She squeezed the assault cannon between her hip and hand, using the other to mash the buttons of the chamber - knowing from the briefing as to which led where. Amanata was going up, up to the landing pad. 

A strangling dozen seconds passed by as the cabin rose upward - an automated robotic voice stating that she had arrived at her destination. Amanata could almost hear the base clambering to find her - knowing that she was walking into hell itself as the doors slid open. She didn’t have time to count the soldiers that meant her, two rushing into the elevator as she shoved them away with the butt of the cannon. Another mortar was shot from inside the cabin - shaking the elevator as her two attackers fell to the mercy of firepower. More separatists shouted outside - and a round of volleys was fired her way - bouncing off the inside of the cabin as she hid around the corner of the lift, eyes stinging from smoke. Amanata held her breath as she shot blindly into the fray, yelping as a bullet ricochet from the side of the cabin and into the back of her upper left arm. Footsteps clattered in the smoke and a figure ran from a nearby room, gun drawn and ready to fire. Amanata threw herself to the ground, throwing her assault cannon down, and unclipping her blaster in a matter of seconds. The shot reached his temple before the sergeant could realize the bodies she was splayed out over. She stood quickly - shouting profanities under her breath as her left arm failed to hold the weight of the cannon as she strived to lift it off the ground. “Fuck it…” Amanata spat - abandoning the weapon in favor of her one-handed blaster, left arm dangling loosely. The blood that stained her drab dusty shirt didn’t register - she was too fiery to give it a second glance. The long vast hallway split into two, both sections sloping upward into another warehouse door, this time with light peeking out from under. The landing pad was just out that way - and she’d be safe to call a transport from the coordinates. However Amanata still had a job to do, wounded or not. Clear the upper levels to ensure the safety of the cargo ship and crew. Havoc Squad would then drop down and assist her with loading the missile, running tactical distractions while she hacked the mainframe. The description of her duty made Amanata’s head spin - she’d rather act than talk - opting to slide into one of the nearby rooms, ignoring the bright fluorescent lights overhead, rushing to a control pad on the wall, and slamming her clenched fist into the alarm. If Amanata wasn’t in trouble before - she was now.

Red lights lit up in every room, blaring erupting from each speaker, a beacon to all inside the stronghold. Amanata pressed herself into the doorframe, panting heavily as she watched the elevator depart downwards, already on a trek to receive her new attackers. This was insane, crazy insane, but all Amanata could think about was the battle. She unhooked a plasma grenade from her belt, cradling it like she would a fruit. A door next to the elevator burst open, and an ops of battle droids marched out, their laser red eyes cutting into Amanata’s soul. She clicked a button on her grenade and lobbed it harshly at the towering mechanicals, ducking back behind the wall, panting. The explosion sent fire soaring through the hallway, the heat could be felt on her back as it pressed up against the wall she sheltered behind. A searing pain sucked into her left arm as one of the droids lumbered through the door frame, black metal melting as it gripped her wrist with hot metal talons and pressed its arm into her forehead, ready to fire. Amanata threw herself to the ground, going deaf as the shot missed - firing over her head, causing her ears to ring. She frantically shot five rounds into the droid’s skull, watching as it clanked to the floor, dripping on the metal tiles. The elevator rumbled back to its post, doors sliding open with a whoosh as Amanata stepped out into the door frame, shielding her face from the fire with her bad arm - and letting out reckless blaster beams with her good. The first separatist to step out of the cabin crumbled to the floor, the others pushing back as the fire lapped at the doorway. A large, three legged DK-27 droid marched through the elevator, fearless of the heat. It towered over Amanata as it swiveled to spot her in the door, the guns mounted to its arms rising. 

“Shit!” Amanata gasped, bursting from the room and dashing off in a mad sprint towards the warehouse door, gaze focused on the light outside. “Close the landing pad doors!” A few separatists shouted behind her, emerging from another stairwell. The droid let off a round of volleys into the wall, causing blinding flashes of light as they barely missed their target. To Amanata’s dismay, the warehouse door began to creak and rumble, starting its descent downwards, the thin hope of light underneath now decreasing. She looked back in panic to see a separatist soldier fiddling with a remote - sealing her escape route. Amanata shed her hood, leaving the dusty fabric in the hallway, lobbing a grenade behind her as she continued her dash to the door. The soldiers screamed - only the droid keeping its composure as it continued to fire in her direction. There was no other option, Amanata let her legs slide out from under her as she slid on her hip, chin facing the sky as she glided under the warehouse door boots first, and into the light. The frame slammed behind her, and Amanata looked up from the ground to see her enemies trapped on the other side of the exit. A loud explosion echoed from the inside - her grenade detonating. It would only be a matter of time before the separatists managed to open the door again - or found someone alive who could. Amanata stood shakily, gun pointed at the door for what felt like ages. Each second that passed further instilled in her consciousness that her enemies were still after her. It was only after the grounding scent of ocean water reached Amanata’s senses did she turn away from the exit, gazing out onto the landing pad. 

She was high above Ord Mantell, able to gaze over even Fort Garnik from the surrounding area. The ocean lined the horizon with blue in the distance, and vast fields of rocky foliage sported broken and bruised villages. Smoke rose in columns from unseen mortars dropped days before. Fire rippled in abandoned homes, yet the wind still remained steadfast as it breezed over the landscape. The landing pad was vast and wide, it struck a chord of fear in Amanata as she instinctively crouched into the rocks that surrounded the pad, wary of such openness. The silence was only broken by the muffled alarm that still rang out in the hallway Amanata had abandoned. 

With hesitation, and the clock to success ticking, she reluctantly deemed the threat on the upper levels neutralized, with the combination of fire and smoke. Time was of the essence, and Amanata drew the flare from her belt, pulling the cap off with her teeth so as to not use her wounded arm. The sergeant held the beacon high in the air, watching as it burned and popped. A few excruciating seconds passed before a small cargo ship crested over the mountains, the foliage around the landing pad being blown every which way as it hovered above the landing pad. Amanata stepped out of the way, the beads of sweat on her face breaking into cold air as a few wispy strands of hair fell from her ponytail. The ship’s engine hissed as its landing gears pressed against the wide concrete sheet. Amanata dropped the flare as the adrenaline wore off and the pain in her arm finally hit her. She grasped the graze wound with her right hand, fingers bloodied from contact. A smile broke over her face as the drop door to the ship lowered, and a few figures stepped out into the day. 

She took a couple of limping steps forward, eyes blinking to gain focus in the light. The shadows of Tavus and Wraith were crowned by the sun, and light reflected off of the blaster now pressed to her head. 

“I’m sorry, Amanata.” Tavus crooned, steely eyes somehow seeming even more cold than before. “It’s not personal.”


	5. {Prologue} Where Fair is Fair

The air was sucked from Amanata’s lungs like a vacuum as she grasped at straws to liberate herself from the confusion. A feeling of a gun to her head wasn’t a foreign one, but her commander standing on the other side of the lethal weapon was what got her. The sergeant had been trained for this - had executed the very _move_ to escape such a situation. But would she be disobeying orders by dodging under the blaster? Would kicking the legs out from under Tavus label her a traitor? They were petty thoughts - little things that had the capacity to slip through the vent that was shock. Tavus was not her friend - she could see it in his cold eyes from the beginning, but there was a certain denial there. Amanata’s desire to prove herself blinded her from her gut reaction. It all came rushing to her now that reality reflected her intuition. The goosebumps that formed on her neck when she had first meant Havoc Squad were validated now, but it was too late. Stupid, stupid. Her joints locked in place, and Amanata found herself unable to blink, to react, as Tavus’s finger tightened around the trigger. A flash of white wiped across her vision, and the crack of gunfire lit the air. Amanata squeezed her eyes shut - ready for death, until she wasn’t. 

The trooper found herself floored on the ground, watching with blurred vision as Jorgan pressed Tavus’s frame into the concrete, wrangling the gun from his hands. Another figure towered above them - Wraith, the Mirilian woman who had lacked mercy from the beginning. Amanata let all of what she used to know fly away in the wind, giving way to a primal animalistic urge - _survival._ In the field, they had been taught to ignore such a thing, listening to tactics and reason instead. But all the reason Amanata had known was vaporized the moment Tavus held his gun to her temple. 

With a wild scream, Amanata launched herself from the ground and barreled into Wraith, clawing at her face with bloodstained gloves. The Mirilian woman screeched and recoiled, kicking out with Havoc boots into Amanata’s torso. They rolled over the surface of the landing pad until one of the kicks caught Amanata in her bleeding arm, throwing her off guard. She gasped and reared her head back, clutching her wound. Wraith only stood - somehow keeping a steely composure, brushing raven black hair behind her ear. Sweat stained Amanata’s cheeks as she came to her knees, looking around the pad to see a battalion of Imperial soldiers now filing out of the cargo ship, circling her. Amanata whipped her head around to glance Jorgan sprawled out on the ground - dangerously close to the edge of the landing pad - ducking below Tavus’s gun as the commander regained his stance. 

Only the panicked exhales of a betrayed Amanata broke the silence. The clicking of dozens of boots came to a stop as the Imperials, dressed in formal gray, guns at the ready, stood to attention. Tavus kicked at Jorgan who groaned, rolling over to hold his bleeding leg. Snot and tears christened Amanata’s face as she tried to crawl closer to him, recognizing the Cathar as her only ally in this hell. Only fear seemed to register in Amanata’s brain as she collapsed over Jorgan, gazing over the cliff edge and unhooking the blaster from his belt to rest a shaky aim on Tavus.

Tavus only clicked his tongue, now padding nobly around the concrete surface, hands behind his back. “Fire, and you’ll be left to face Havoc Squad, and dozens of Imperial soldiers as well. The odds are stacked against you, Lakes.”

“Just…” She coughed, shaking heavily now. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what the fuck’s going on!” Jorgan stirred next to her, panting growls escaping his maw as he shifted to a sitting position, feebly trying to coax the blaster from Amanata’s hands. “I’ll handle this!” She spat to him, shouldering him away from her grip. 

“Tavus, _traitor._ ” Jorgan hissed weakly, his scowl darkening in pain. 

“You didn’t have to die this way, Jorgan.” Tavus crooned, waving some of his battalion away and into the base. The commander took a couple of bold steps forward, bending down so he could speak clearly to the two fallen soldiers. “And if I’m honest, I _don’t_ know why you’re here. If you would’ve kept your maw shut and let Lakes complete her ‘mission’ as planned, there wouldn’t be a hole in your thigh, and your blood wouldn’t be staining my armor.”

Jorgan growled and Amanata let him fall onto her shoulder, growing worried for the weakening Cathar. She caught Tavus’s tone and the way he played with the word _mission_ , it ate at her instincts, and Amanata only grew angrier. “What the _fuck_ do you mean Tavus? You sent me to clear the landing pad so that Havoc could extract the bomb!”

“Yes, which you did perfectly.” Tavus’s sing-song tone made her grit her teeth, livid at the ice in his eyes. “I didn’t expect you to survive, Lakes. You were meant to distract the enemy, nothing more. But your duty has been completed, the cargo ship landed safely, didn’t it? And our crew is infiltrating the separatist stronghold to retrieve the orbital bomb as we speak.”

“Your _crew?_ You mean _Imperial soldiers?!_ ” Tears began to flow from Amanata’s temples, not from sadness, but from the shock she felt. The anger. The salty dejection mixed with blood and sweat, her red hair slick against her twisted face. 

“The Imperials, the Empire, they’re just words, Lakes.” Tavus went on, looking up to gaze at the mechanical door on the upper side of the base, grinning as it opened with a whir. “It seems the Republic has hammered an idea into your heads that the Empire is corrupt, simply because they don’t conform to the majority. So over the course of the war - you’ve further distanced yourselves from the opposition, spreading propaganda that the _other side_ is evil, filled with criminals and half-wits.”

A large robotic arm emerged from the vault door, pistons creaking as it displayed the impossible ZR-57 bomb in its grip. Tavus nodded to Wraith, and the green woman slinked over to the cargo ship, smirking as the massive loading doors opened, and the missile was tediously lowered into the cabin. 

“The hypocrisy of it all, it _disappoints_ me.” Tavus sneared, fiddling with his blaster. “The Republic treats its heros like scum, ungrateful for the things we do to keep their enemies at bay. We’re reprimanded with standards and rules, grouped together with the rest.” Tavus lifted the blaster towards Amanata, and she flinched, shifting on her knees to quickly dash away, but instead the commander hooked the weapon back into his belt, thumbs in the loops as the second door into the base blew open, revealing the rest of Havoc Squad. Amanata was struck by their figures, feeling her heart drop as they patrolled forward, standing next to Tavus to gaze down at a wounded Amanata and Jorgan. “The _other side_ , as you view it, can recognize talent, and treats the owners of it well. Havoc Squad won’t be another one of the Republic’s pawns in this game of war. If we’re going to fight - we’ll be fighting for the Empire, where fair is fair.”

Tavus, Wraith, Needles, Gearbox. Even Fuse was among the traitors, looking away shyly as if disappointed to be seen with the rest of the squad. The grinding of gears and whirring of metallic parts shifted Amanata’s attention to the ship as the large robotic arm retracted back into the access door, leaving the deadly orbital missile in Havoc’s possession. “I was going to kill you, Amanata. But I’m impressed.” Tavus spat, waving the rest of Havoc off as they boarded the cargo ship. “It’d be a shame to let a good soldier die at my hands. I’ll let my battalion do that duty for me.” The mass of Imperial soldiers who had disappeared into the stronghold now returned, seemingly unfazed. Dozens of blasters aimed their sights at her and Jorgan’s frames, red dots glowing over their armor. 

Hot air wiped across the landing pad as the ship’s engine sputtered and kicked into full gear, Tavus gave Amanata one last salute as if to say ‘I’m sorry,” before boarding the cargo ship, along with the rest. He spun on his heel as he turned, an ironic pep in his step as the drop door closed behind him. Heat washed over Amanata’s face as the cabin lifted from the landing pad, careening into the air. The foliage whipped the rocks around it, and that single moment of silence was Amanata’s final saving grace. She clutched her blaster and raised it high, determined to bring some Imperials down with her when she died. The hush of fingers against blasters squeezed, and the whistle of a gun charge. The shot was fast, but Jorgan was faster. Dozens of lasers now crashed into the landing pad, lighting the skyscraping place into one of unnatural death. Amanata’s back fell into Jorgan’s chest as he grasped a smoke bomb from her belt, launching it into the fray. The Cathar rolled and pulled Amanata with him, over the cliff and into the rocky terrain below. The foliage whipped at her face, blood dripping from some unknown part of her throbbing body. Amanata lost all sense of direction as her vision spun. Rocks and shale cut into her flesh, smoke stung her eyes, and Jorgan panted, breaths painful and raspy. The ground came to meet them quickly, a sandy surface that cut her face and bruised her body. She landed on top of Jorgan and yelped with the sudden thud, feeling sick. Her body stung all over, and her ribs throbbed and ached from the fall. The edge of the cliff above made her dizzy, a sense of vertigo to top it all off. Amanata lurched to her feet, falling over once more only to retch into the grass from pain. Jorgan lay still on the sand, utterly vulnerable to the Imperial soldiers now sliding their way down the mountain. Amanata grasped his frame and pulled him into the side of the cliff, under a rocky outcrop so as not to be seen. Blood dripped down her face in the silence, and Amanata held her breath. She grasped her blaster with her good arm, laying the other over Jorgan’s lap as she slouched the Cathar over the foliage. He went limp and Amanata’s heart dropped. Her nose was filled with blood and smoke, mouth dripping crimson, teeth stained with red. Boots hit the ground a dozen yards away, crunching over the dried grass. A few other figures followed, and Amanata shoved Jorgan deeper into the crevice, pressing her back into his limp body as she grit her teeth and grasped the blaster with both hands. Shale slid from their outcrop above, and the close murmur of Imperial chatter echoed in the valley. Nothing moved, and nothing stirred. Hours passed, maybe days. Amanata felt the same way she had trapped in her crashed transport - except this time she was being _hunted._ The blue sun crested the top of the mountain, and Amanata counted as it sunk deeper into the sky. Her limbs wouldn’t move, her ribs ached, and blood stained her clothes. A strong sense of deja vu hit her, and she peeled her olive shirt from her light suit of armor, ripping it to a ribbon as she frantically tied the cloth around Jorgan’s blaster wound. The lieutenant moaned and grasped her arm. His green eyes opened for a moment, watery and painful. A mumble escaped his maw and Amanata grew angry, crouching over him. “Shut up, Jorgan. You’ll be fine.” Although the statement was made more for her wellbeing than for his.

Dusk was hell - the distant fading blue sky mocking their red-stained bodies. Amanata clutched her arm and heaved Jorgan up as they removed themselves from the outcropping. The Cathar could barely stand, his bad leg buckling everytime weight found it. Amanata’s eyes were wide as she scanned every patch of shadows, head twisting wildly with each snap of a twig. Her blaster hung under Jorgan’s shoulder, hovering between their frames as she helped him down the shale. It was night by the time they’d found the base of the mountain, Amanata felt as if she’d died, and her body was walking on without her. The lights of Fort Garnik twinkled in the distance, disrupted by Ord Mantell’s badge of smoke and fire. Amanata exhaled painfully, her grip buckling as she fell to her knees, blood streaming down her arm. Jorgan collapsed with her - only half conscious and riddled with wounds. They laid together in the foliage, her abdomen pressed into his torso. Amanata’s head fell into the sand, the foliage caressing her face as the wind gently pushed it onwards. Jorgan’s Havoc armor glowed beautifully with red water as the sky crackled. A lash of thunder struck the moor, and the clouds opened up to cry for the fallen soldiers. Amanata weakly turned her face towards the rain, strands of her fiery hair falling from her features. The blood washed away, and Amanata grasped for her belt, pulling one last flare up to her maw. Her teeth slipped on the cap, and the pop of red flame lit her eyes, reminding her of the caged bulb in the transport ship. Her body flinched at the memory, but the flare remained steadfast as it sent a stream of bright smoke into the air, their last resort.

<//>

The frantic murmurs of a father and son woke her, fingers on her wound, and a bandage around her head. The sky was dark, the stars twinkling under the clouds. Amanata was wet - wet and cold and _scared._ She passed in and out of consciousness - catching only glimpses of reality through the haze. The blur of the ground beneath their rescuer’s speeder bike, the splash of puddles as her frame was hauled through steel doors. The fluorescent lights above her head, and the quiet that now welcomed her. She only grew aggravated when her peace was disturbed, tossing and turning on a hard surface until a pale face came into focus in the light. 

“Y-you’re awake!” A young boy shouted, looking like he’d seen a ghost. “Pa! The soldiers are awake…” His voice trailed off as the youngling ran out a nearby door, into the nighttime air. Amanata groaned and tried to sit up, slipping and falling back onto the round kitchen table she had been splayed out on. The face of Jorgan was still next to hers, his natural scowl softened with pain - or death. The thought sent a jolt into Amanata, and she instinctively reached for her blaster on her belt - to find it gone. Her armor had been stripped as well, replaced with common civilian clothes. She lifted the gray cotton shirt around her torso to see a rudimentary bandage wrap around her stomach. Blood stained the cloth, and seeped through onto the table. Her arm sported the same bandage, but its execution was flawed. It was only seconds after her examination that the pain hit. There was no realization without learning, and Amanata learned very quickly that she hurt like hell. Her whole frame seemed to pulse with mind shattering trauma. Her ribs ached as she rolled on the table, clutching her stomach and stifling a retch. Jorgan’s reaction paled in comparison to hers, as he laid numbingly still on the kitchen table, showing no symptoms of a living being. A common civilian house framed his image as the two now found themselves in a standard dwelling - far removed from their previous circumstances. 

Amanata couldn’t take her eyes off the Cathar next to her, growing more paranoid by the minute. If Tavus and the rest of Havoc Squad could betray the Republic on a whim, what did that mean for Aric Jorgan? Was he in on the scheme? Did he plan to finish what Tavus started? Would he awake any moment now, pointing a blaster to Amanata’s skull? She needed to act now. Wherever Amanata was, she couldn’t stay here. The thoughts went off like alarms in her head, and Amanata rolled off the table, yelping as a spike of pain shot through her body. She frantically straightened herself and fell towards a nearby counter, sweeping several dishes and ornaments off the top with her panicked grip. She had to live. She had to survive. It was the only way, it was… Memories of Tavus, of falling, of the smoke in her nostrils… It became too much, and Amanata collapsed to the ground.. She began to cry, to  _ sob.  _ Tears stained her cheeks and every inhale burned like fire. Fear gnawed on her bones and death gripped her throat. Amanata felt trapped - utterly trapped on the floor of the kitchen. She crawled her way under the table and clutched her head, overwhelmed with thoughts of betrayal and abandonment - it all caught up to her now. Her poker face was a solid one, but even it needed to hang up its coat once in a while. Amanata broke, letting her walls fall down as the fear slammed its jaws around her skull. She lived always moving forward, oftentimes leaving the specifics behind, the caution, the logic, the pain. They usually came back to bite her, and now she’d reap the consequences of her steely demeanor and fiery heart.

The young boy who had first stood above her now cowered behind his father, blue eyes wide with fear and confusion as an older gentleman gazed at Amanata with panic in his eyes. “Are you hurting?” He asked in a frantic gruff voice, hands shaking. Amanata only stared at him, now on her knees, slumping into the floor. She nodded weakly and willed herself to find solid ground. She was hurting - but not from her wounds. The older man shooed his son away, barking something about “medicine” and “more bandages.” He stared at Amanata helplessly, unsure of what to do. “Miss... Republic forces are on the way… we saw your flare, and well, you see, you all were hurt, and, well, I just had to take you in, see…” His voice trailed off into a blur as Amanata’s gaze drifted away into nothing. The metallic kitchen walls now faded into gray clouds - like the ones that sprouted rain under the mountain.


End file.
